


Caught in a Web

by cagestark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Sexual Assault, Author Takes Gratuitous Liberties, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Multi, No Means No, Oral Sex, Peter is 22, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, This is soft and sweet I think actually, Unsafe Sex, Unsuccessful Sexual Assault, consent is important, prison!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagestark/pseuds/cagestark
Summary: Bucky and Tony are prison inmates in love. They spot the new correction's officer Peter Parker and decide to embark upon seducing him.





	Caught in a Web

**Author's Note:**

> Power imbalances in relationships aren't cool. Neither is unsafe sex. Be safe.  
> Un-betad. I wrote this all today. Oof.  
> This also ignores that prison is actually a very dangerous place for LGBT+. Here, being gay is more or less acceptable.  
> Enjoy <3

The first time Tony meets Officer Parker, Tony is shackled at the waist and ankles to eleven other inmates from Lincoln Correctional Facility. He reaches up with bound wrists to scrub at his facial hair hoping that he isn’t as scruffy as he feels, eyeing the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little twink who would be driving them twenty minutes to a nearby park. There they would be giving restitution to society by picking up plastic soda bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms from under the dugout benches at the baseball diamond. Thinking of the millions of dollars he stole from his father’s company (plenty of which was still offshore and safe), Tony figures that a week of this and his debt will be repaid. He and society can call it even.

“He’s green,” Bucky mutters from beside him. He tracks the younger man’s pale eyes to Officer Twink. “No question about it.”

“Hey Fury,” Tony says when the black officer goes by doing a head count. He motions with his bound hands to Parker. “I didn’t know it was bring-your-white-child-to-work-day. Are his legs long enough to reach the pedals in the van? Does he have his permit? Where did you leave his Hot Wheels battery-powered jeep? Will we all fit in the back, because—”

“Pushing your luck,” mutters Steve from Tony’s other side, goody-fucking-two-shoes that he is.

Fury stops walking, actually doubles back to stand in front of him. “You want me to drag you out of line, Stark? You can spend the rest of your day inside washing dishes. Or in solitary, if you feel like being more of an asshole than usual. Don’t fucking test me,” Fury says. He’s a real hard-ass. Tony likes him well enough.

Beyond them, Officer Parker is blushing to beat the band having heard Tony’s criticism of him. “I’m twenty-two,” he mutters, and Tony nearly groans. Beside him, Bucky _does_ groan. This kid is so, _so_ fucking green. What kind of dummy correctional officer just spills personal information in front of convicted felons?

The harder inmates are going to eat him alive.

If Tony doesn’t eat him first.

“Twenty-two huh? When’s your birthday, sweetheart?” Tony calls. “I’ll drop a postcard in the mail for you—"

He hears the slide of chrome on leather as Fury draws his baton. Tony has just enough time to be thankful it’s not his taser before it is jabbing him in the chest. With his feet and wrists shackled, he has no real way to keep himself upright. He ends up sprawled ass first in the dirt. Steve and Bucky have to adjust to avoid falling themselves and likely taking the whole line down with them.

“Did you just threaten Officer Parker, Stark?” Fury asks, bending over him.

Tony squints up against the sun. “If my heartfelt affection is threatening, then—”

“One more word and you’re spending the week on D Block.” D Block is solitary confinement, and if there is anything more painful to Tony, he doesn’t know what it is. Being alone with his thoughts, no one there to fill the silence, walls so thick he can’t even hear the shouts from other inmates around him—it’s enough to drive him to the edge. He folds.

“Parker,” Fury barks. “Give me your keys. Stark isn’t coming on the field trip.”

“How else am I going to pay my debt to society?” Tony asks, holding up his wrists so Fury can unchain him out of the line. Fury doesn’t dignify him with an answer, and it’s probably for the best. Words tend to pour out of Tony’s mouth without thought even at the best of times. And he really isn’t looking to spend the first week of Officer Parker’s employment up on D Block getting his trays through the slot in the door.

While Fury undoes the locks with practiced ease, Parker stands back practically wringing his hands. He looks distraught, downright upset to be honest. When he catches Tony looking, the kid turns red and looks away. God. Fucking adorable.

Tony glances up at Bucky who is looking straight ahead with the smuggest fucking smirk. He winks at Parker and the kid literally has to turn away, probably before he has a stroke, because Bucky is a good-looking guy. And he’s going to spend the entire week, eight hours a day picking up trash while being supervised by Officer Twink.

“You lucky bastard,” Tony says to him.

-

“Bucky’s probably got him bent on all fours in one of the dugouts right now,” Tony mutters unhappily around an unlit cigarette. They aren’t supposed to smoke inside—it’s against the rules, actually, not just frowned upon—but in times of anxiety, he likes the familiarity of it between his lips. He picks up his dealt cards from the table and glances at them: a straight. Not bad.

“Should have kept your mouth shut,” Toomes says from across the table. His joy at Tony’s dismay is poorly disguised behind his own hand. “That’d be you, right now. Picking up trash in Manhattan. The highlight of your day getting your dick sucked in a dugout littered with caramel corn and old wads of chewing gum. God, how the mighty fall.”

“Could be you right now, too,” Tony offers genially. “But those domestic violence charges mean you don’t even get the chance to go on field trips, huh?”

“Not to mention,” Rhodes says from beside him, a dark-skinned man with a generally unhappy face, and serious disposition. He was one of the only people on the block that Tony genuinely trusted—that sort of trust was hard earned. They’d even exchanged addresses so they could communicate after one or the other gets processed out. “No guard would risk their job for a suck job with you, Toomes.”

“Brutal,” Tony says, holding out his hand to shake Rhodey’s. “True, but absolutely brutal.”

“Thanks,” Rhodey says dryly. “Is someone going to call, or what?”

Toomes ends up storming off, leaving his hand flat on the table. When Tony flips it over, he only had one pair. Unfortunate bastard.

“He’s going to give you problems, Tony,” Rhodey says. His dark eyes are still tracking Toomes who is sulking across the floor back to his cell, where he stands in the doorway, scanning the room. “He’s not showing you respect, and he’s not meshing well with the block. It’s going to come to a head soon.”

“Is this foreshadowing?” Tony asks lazily.

Rhodey just stares.

-

Tony is dozing in his cell when a large form takes up the doorway. He slits his eyes open to see Bucky there, fresh from a shower with his jumpsuit half-undone and tied around his waist. The white wifebeater he wears shows off his arms, including the gnarly scars on his left shoulder from his last tour overseas. It clings to skin that is still a little wet, and Tony licks his lips.

“Hey snowflake,” he says, voice raspy. “Come to rub it in?”

Bucky sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the concrete wall. “His name is Peter. He graduated from the academy last May. This is his first job—if you don’t count the food joint he worked at as a kid. And his birthday is August tenth.”

Tony scoffs. “What, you didn’t get his social security number too? I’m disappointed. And I don’t believe you.”

Bucky holds up a scarred hand, solemn. “Swear on my tags.”

“How the hell could you have found out so much about the kid in a handful of hours? With Fury marching around no less.”

The smile that slides over Bucky’s face is so fucking handsome. Downright sensual. “Fury didn’t come. He was just there for headcount. It was Coulson escorting us with the kid. He spent the whole time sitting in the van with the AC and radio on, chainsmoking. You’re going to shit yourself, Tony. This kid is so fucking sincere and sweet—” Bucky throws his voice into what must be a poor impression of Peter’s trembling voice. “— _thanks Mister Barnes, you’ve been so friendly. I’m glad my first day was spent with you.”_

“Aww fuck. Goddamnit. Son of a bitch.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t worry, you’re going to get your chance. He told me today was just to break him in. Tomorrow? He’s on the block. And don’t worry, I put in a good word for you. My friend Tony, I said, he’s one of the most solid guys I know. Arrogant as fuck, but a sweetheart underneath the ten different layers of ego and narcissism.”

Tony’s eyes shut. His hands come together in a prayer position over his chest. “Oh thank you, sweet Jesus.”

“Thank me,” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows.

In the back of the cell is a curtain that can be drawn shut while an inmate uses the facilities. It’s where most sex happens during the daytime, when anyone is liable to walk by and glance into a cell. Tony jerks a thumb at it. “You want to see what lies behind curtain number one, Buck?”

“Sure. I’m feeling lucky.”

-

Showers open at dawn, and Tony is one of the first inmates there. He takes extra time soaping himself up in the lukewarm water. By the time trays are brought in, he is dressed with his hair combed. The tank top he wears is white as is required for all clothes that aren’t jumpsuits, and it looks good against his tanned skin. Tony looks fucking good for his age—which is somewhere past thirty and before fifty, thanks, don’t worry about it.

He’s halfway through a tray of biscuits and gravy with more-than-decent hash-browns when Officer Parker comes in, the door of the block screeching open. He’s escorted again by Coulson. They tend to keep senior officers with green ones, because it’s so easy for the new guys to fall prey to inmates, whether by manipulation, intimidation, or sheer manpower. Tony has seen it happen. Tony has caused it, himself. He didn’t end up as the top guy in the block by shaking hands and kissing ass.

Coulson points out things around the block: the cells (obvious), the showers, the cameras. Tony isn’t close enough to hear what’s being said, but he can imagine. Guards come in every hour during the day and every two hours at night to stroll around the block peaking into cells. Even when they aren’t a physical presence on the floor, they are always watching behind the cameras. That will be Peter’s job today: walking the floor. Every sixty minutes, he’ll walk right by Tony in his cute little dress blues. They look too clingy to be at all efficient, especially on Peter’s lithe little form, narrow hips barely able to support the holster on his waist.

Peter turns around and Tony gets a nice glimpse of his ass—God, he wants to bite it.

Bucky looks less enthusiastic today, hair pulled back into a wet bun, dark circles under his eyes. They’d slept in the same bunk last night, but when he’d awoken in the morning, Bucky had been gone. Nightmares, probably. “Now who’s the lucky bastard?” he mumbles around his fork.

Tony. Tony is the lucky bastard.

When Coulson and Peter go by, Tony calls out, face wearing a winning smile. “Good morning, officers.”

“Good morning,” Peter says sweetly. When he notices that it is Tony who spoke, his eyes double in size. Obviously, Tony has already made an impression. He plants his chin on his palm, elbow resting on the table, and lets his eyes rove over the green boy. Unashamed is his middle name.

“Inmate number one to watch out for, Parker,” Coulson says. But Tony thinks there’s a little affection underneath the vacant expression. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“I’m hurt, Phil,” Tony says. “Really hurt.”

“Stark is here for fraud, and he’s a master manipulator.”

“That’s better—stroke my ego, Phil. I love it. Go on.”

Coulson looks unimpressed. “Give him a wide berth.”

Peter nods obediently. His eyes trail over to Bucky and he lights up, squinting with a smile liable to outshine the sun. “Good morning Bucky! How are you?”

Coulson looks liable to have a fucking stroke. Lips twitching, Bucky salutes. “Doing great, sweet thing, how about yourself?”

“Can’t complain,” Peter says, blushing prettily.

Coulson ends up having to drag him off. Tony can’t imagine the dressing down he’s going to be receiving once they’re in private. Actually, he can, and it’s an image he cherishes. It wouldn’t hurt for the sweet kid to have some sense knocked into him by the other guards—before one of the inmates knocks it into him for them. The thought makes Tony’s fist clench around his fork. If anybody is knocking anything into Peter, it will be him. And Bucky. Preferably at the same time.

“You can hold him down,” Tony says lowly to Bucky across the table. “I’d like to see your thick arms wrapped around him. He looks like a squirmer, so sensitive. You can keep him still with nowhere to go, sitting on your cock, and I’ll suck him off. I bet he cries.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, eyes half-lidded. He makes a stabbing motion with his plastic fork. “Or I’ll end up in the bathroom at the park beating off.”

“I like the thought of that.”

“Yeah, well I _don’t_.”

-

The next time Peter comes around, he is alone. Tony, Toomes, and some of the other guys are sitting around the table playing poker.

“Afternoon gentlemen,” Peter says cordially. Tony is immediately smitten—the kid is trying so hard to be a Big Boy. It’s so fucking endearing. All Tony wants to do is drag the kid by the belt to the nearest cell and suck him off.

“Afternoon, handsome,” Tony says.

“I hope there’s no gambling going on,” Peter says, his arms cross across his chest. Jesus, his arms are skinny but fucking built, muscles straining beneath the cuffs of his shirt. There’s strength there. He’s reminded suddenly that this kid did pass the academy, so he does have some training under his belt.

“Gambling is against the rules, officer,” Tony says brightly. He takes the cigarette from behind his ear, hands desperate for something to do, and tucks it between his lips. “Do we look like rule breakers to you?”

Peter shakes the hand of each man around the table. Tony would have to be blind not to see the looks he’s garnering: incredulity, attraction, calculation. Toomes looks like he’s about to cream his jumpsuit when his rough hand wraps around Peter’s soft, tiny one. The look he shoots Tony is smug.

“Do I get a handshake, Officer?” Tony asks sweetly as the kid is trying to make his escape.

He looks at Tony’s hand like it is a trap. Tony softens.

“I’m sorry if I came on too strong before,” he says gently. “I just want to say, Welcome to LCF.”

Peter takes his hand. It is just as soft and smooth as it looks, but the grip is strong and firm, and Tony feels irrational pride—look at this little boy standing up to him, so fucking fearless. He makes sure to keep the handshake simple and wholesome, even though it hurts to let go. Judging by the look on Peter’s face, he agrees.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” the kid breaths and _fuck_. That goes right to his cock.

“You’re quite welcome,” he purrs.

-

The guards work 2-2-3’s, predictably. That means that Peter will have two day shifts, two days off, three night shifts, two days off, two day shifts, three days off, so on and so forth. The next two days with no Peter to look forward to and Bucky spending the 9 to 5 picking up trash are some of the dullest he’s ever had. Rhodey is the only consolation. They spend a lot of their time watching television together or playing chess.

And nights are spent with Bucky. They take turns topping, pressing each other into the mattress and muttering a litany of dirty prose in each other’s ears. Peter makes a lot of appearances in their repertoire, and some of the best orgasms Tony’s had in ages come from imagining him walking into his cell someday to find Bucky sucking off Officer Parker, or the other way around.

Sometimes, Tony has to go behind the curtain in his cell and pretend he’s taking a shit, when in reality he is jerking off to the thought. Popping a boner during poker isn’t exactly welcome.

The night shifts aren’t ideal. From 6 pm to 6 am, Peter will come in to walk the floor, shining light into cells to make sure everything is up to code. There isn’t as much time for conversation, but Tony figures he’ll be happy to spend the night awake in his bunk just for the glimpses of Peter he’ll get. God, he’s fucking worked up over this kid. Mr. Stark, he called him. Jesus.

When Peter comes in at six, it is to general greeting suffused with catcalls. His face turns red as a tomato, but he smiles, looking pleased by the comradery.

“Hey doll,” Bucky says when he strolls by. Trays came in a few minutes prior, so they are eating. Salisbury steak tonight, disgusting—but the gravy isn’t half bad. Peter waves, coming over.

“Hi Mr. Barnes. Hi Mr. Stark.”

“It’s Tony, sweetheart,” Tony says. “Even Coulson calls us by our first names. You can do it too.”

“T-Tony,” Peter stutters.

“Say it again,” Tony purrs. “You need to get your practice in now.”

Bucky kicks him under the table. “You’re going to give him an aneurysm. Sorry Pete—Tony is a bit of a horn dog. He’s what the kids call thirsty.”

Peter laughs, hiding his smile behind his hand. “Yeah, I could have guessed. Is he like this with everybody?”

Tony goes to open his mouth, but is stopped by the increased pressure on the arch of his foot by Bucky’s boot under the table. When he glances over, Bucky looks earnest, serious. He puts a scarred hand over his heart. “No sir. Swear on my service tags. You’ve got us all smitten.”

Peter melts. He bites his lip, casting Tony a shy but warm glance. “I—you guys are so nice. I better get back to—yeah—”

They both watch Peter’s ass as he walks away.

“You smooth motherfucker. I need to start taking a page out of your book,” Tony mutters. He rubs his ankle softly against Bucky’s. It’s the most affection they’re willing to give each other out on the floor. Affection is weakness here, and as the guy who runs the floor, Tony knows he has a big target on his chest. He’d rather not make it any bigger. For him, or for Bucky.

-

It’s nearing ten PM. Lights go out at 9:30, and while not everyone is asleep, the raucous gatherings are contained to individual cells.

Like Tony’s. He is biting his knuckles, panting as Bucky sucks him off. They’ve spent the last hour cuddling in the bunk, running their hands over each other, muttering dirty things between them. He’s been hard for the better part of that hour, and it’s only now that Bucky has shown mercy on him, tugging him up to sit on the edge of the bunk, knees spread wide. He rucks up Tony’s wifebeater over his abs and chest to rub a thumb at one of his nipples, causing his cock to jump.

“Let’s give a show, baby, huh?” Bucky whispers before swallowing him down. Tony jolts, barely managing to cut off the groan that builds up in his throat.

Bucky gives head with enthusiasm and without shame, probably because he looks so fucking hot without his inhibitions, and he knows it. Eyes closed like Tony’s cock is the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his mouth, Bucky drools and chokes himself, sometimes pressing Tony’s cock up so that he can mouth at the older man’s balls, taking them into his mouth one at a time.

Tony holds off his orgasm for as long as he can. He loves this, loves how aroused Bucky gets from sucking cock, whining around it, one hand reaching between his own legs to jerk himself off.

Then comes the light. It blinds Tony whose eyes are accustomed to the darkness. He gasps, jerking backwards in horror at being caught, but Bucky’s hands grab his hips and wrench him forwards, taking him deeper.

There comes a gasp, high and effeminate.

 _Peter_.

The flashlight fumbles and clicks off, but Tony doesn’t hear the footsteps move away. His eyes readjust to the darkness, and he sees Peter’s form standing in the doorway, one hand up to press against his mouth.

Bucky chokes himself, swallowing around the head of Tony’s cock, and something about being watched—being watched by _Peter_ —has Tony gasping, fisting Bucky’s long hair and fucking into his throat as he cums. He barely manages to keep his eyes open through the pleasure, because now he can just make out the dim form of features on Peter’s face, eyes half-closed, and knuckles clutched between his teeth.

_He likes what he sees._

“Jesus, baby,” Tony whispers, stroking Bucky’s hair. The man stands up, pants slung to his ankles, fisting his naked cock furiously. The low cots mean that when he cums with a groan, he stripes Tony’s chest with it, and he loves it, fucking loves marking and being marked by Bucky. “You wanted to give Peter a show, huh?”

The sound Peter makes is tortured. He turns and nearly sprints away, perfunctorily walking down the rest of the cells, glancing in to make sure no one is smoking or hoarding blankets or any other thing.

They sit side by side on the bunk, panting.

“All part of the plan, handsome,” Bucky mutters, pressing a tender kiss to Tony’s forehead.

-

“Petey came to my cell last night,” Toomes says the next day. The guard on duty is in Tony’s palm, so Tony smokes unabashedly and without fear of repercussions, flicking his ash in a neat pile next to him, because littering isn’t cool.

He isn’t sure what his facial expression says, but he hopes it’s as stony and unbelieving as he feels. “Good for you, Toomes. Did you finally get that suck job you wanted?”

The other man scoffs, waving away Tony’s accusations. “He’s too skittish for that. But he saw me reading. Frankenstein. Did you know he’s a big reader, Tony?”

Tony didn’t know. He tries not to let it show how rankled it makes him, that there is any part of Peter that this vulture has picked off before Tony or Bucky.

“Maybe you can start a book club,” Tony suggests.

Beside him, Rhodey snorts into his cards.

-

“He’s full of shit, Tony. You know that,” Bucky soothes. He’s sitting on Tony’s cot, freshly showered, watching Tony pace, cigarette clutched between his lips. The younger man is getting a tan from his time spent out in the sun picking up trash. For a fair skinned, fair eyed man, he tans surprisingly well. Tony certainly appreciates the aesthetic.

“He’s not. Not about this, at least,” Tony mutters. “Peter waved to him tonight at dinner when you were getting your tray. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to look at Toomes with a pleasant expression. I can’t unsee it.”

“You poor thing,” Bucky says, sounding not at all sympathetic. “Look, the kid’s worked here for three days. This is his fourth fucking shift. Seduction takes time. You always do this—if something you want doesn’t fall into your lap right away, you get mopey. Where’s the Tony you always talk about, the one who had patience, who worked hard to reap rewards?”

“Worked real hard to reap my dad’s money, you’ve got that right,” Tony mutters. “You suck at pep talks, snowflake.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Then how about I just console you?”

Tony takes the cigarette from his mouth and points it at him. “Now you’re talking.”

-

It’s nearing two in the morning. Peter has been by a handful of times, face red when he glances into their cell. Bucky and Tony jerked each other off hours ago—shame he missed it—and have spent the rest of the evening sitting on the cot talking. Bucky does push-ups. Tony admires the view.

“I’m out of smokes,” Bucky says. He means pot—Tony doesn’t partake, but on nights when Bucky does, he sleeps easier and wakes more rested. “I need more papers.”

“I got ‘em baby.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

Tony can get anything into prison. It’s about greasing the guards—and he makes sure to know which ones squeak and which ones don’t. Then he keeps them well, well lubricated. Whenever someone needs something (matches, drugs, porn, other contraband), Tony is the guy who gets it. But he’s not dumb enough to be the guy who keeps it. That’s on the straw men Tony keeps around the block. One houses the rolling papers. Another has the pot. There’s a cellphone in the cell beside Tony. And if there are shakedowns with guards Tony doesn’t have under his thumb, those men agree to take the fall, and Tony agrees to make it up to them.

It’s late and dark, most people actually asleep now. Tony feels his way down to the cells to the guy who’s housing the papers for joints. The guy snores to wake the dead, but Tony doesn’t care, letting himself in and going to the designated location.

It’s on his way back that he hears the noise.

Voices.

He’d ignore them—some guys will stay up all night talking—but one of those voices is too high.

It’s panicked, too.

Breathing heavier, he takes care to muffle his steps. He isn’t wearing shoes, and that makes him vulnerable in a fight, but he’s held his own in worse situations. The element of surprise will be instrumental in coming out on top—if he needs to. Keeping his breaths quiet, he follows the sounds to the showers, empty but still smelling damp and faintly of soap.

It’s definitely Peter’s voice.

There are windows here that let in the moonlight. Tony stands in the shadow of the doorway, watching and listening.

“Come on, Adrian, quit—”

“You come on, Petey. I’ll make it good for you. It’s got to be tough, being around all the men on the block, being flirted with all the time. Gets a kid hot and bothered I bet, huh? You’re a hot little thing. I saw the way you looked at me last night. I’m here for you, honey. You can use me—”

“I don’t want to. I could lose my job.”

“I’ll take it to the grave, Pete, I swear.”

Peter is pressed against the tiled wall between two showerheads. Adrian is pinning him there with his body, and the size difference is drastic. Peter is so fucking tiny and frail looking, eyes huge and frightened, hands clenching and unclenching even though he has a fucking weapon, come on Pete, pull your baton, your taser, your fucking gun—

Adrian’s hand drifts from where it’s caressing Peter’s jaw. It presses against his chest, fingering the buttons down Peter’s dress blues, and then palms the young man’s cock.

Tony sees red. He wishes he had the shiv he keeps hidden on the floor, but there’s no time to search for it in the dark, and he can make do without it anyway. Get Adrian down and then pull Peter’s baton, beat Toomes again and again and again until the man eats his meals through a straw or _not at all_.

“I said _no_ , Toomes.” Peter grabs the man’s wrist and twists it expertly. With a strength Tony didn’t know could be contained in such a tiny form, he switches their positions to press Toomes’s face into the wall, grinding it against the tiles. The man struggles but Peter is holding strong, lithe little muscles bulging as he kicks the man’s legs apart so he can’t get proper leverage to push him away. Then he grabs his cuffs, and in a heartbeat, the larger man is subdued. “I tried to be nice, didn’t I? No means no, asshole.”

He wrenches Toomes away from the wall and they both turn to see Tony standing there. They all look at each other, mouths open. Then Tony lifts his hands and brings them together softly, a standing ovation.

“I’m not going to lie,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little hard right now.”

Peter scowls. “Not now, Tony. Go press the button to let the other guards know I need help.”

“No can do, sweet thing. But it looks like you’ve got it covered for yourself.”

Peter does, frog marching Toomes across the floor and out of the Block. Tony watches it all with an incredulous expression. And a chub. Even after they’re gone, he stands on the quiet, dark floor, pondering what he’s seen. When Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, Tony nearly jumps out of his own skin.

“What happened?” he asks. “Was that Peter I heard?”

“Oh Buck. You won’t believe this yarn I’m going to spin you.”

-

Toomes doesn’t return to the block. More than likely, he is shifted to another block with more violent offenders. They tend to group inmates based on the charges against them and their charge history. Tony wonders what exactly he’ll be charged with now. Attempted assault of a police officer? It sounds delicious. Whatever the punishment, it will be too good for him.

Bucky is torn up. Coming home from war has left him sensitive to certain aggressions, and he often feels things too keenly. Takes things too personally. “No means no,” he says, voice thick, faced press into Tony’s neck as he holds him. “Why don’t people listen? No means _no_.”

“We know that. They know that too. They just don’t care, baby. We’ll see Pete tomorrow and find out how he’s doing.”

Bucky lifts his head. His eyes are cloudy and distant “Tell me again how he roughed up Toomes.”

“With pleasure,” Tony purrs. “He’s so goddamn petite, but his hiding some serious muscles under that uniform. God, it had me worked up, the way he knocked Toomes’s legs apart. The snap of the cuffs. When we get out of here, snowflake, we need to invest in a pair of those.”

Bucky snorts, but he looks pleased.

Part of Tony worried that Peter wouldn’t come in for his shift. He wouldn’t blame the kid; he’d almost been assaulted on the job. The guards had it tough. If it wasn’t sexual harassment, it was physical intimidation—the latter of which Tony himself had been guilty of. But he shouldn’t have underestimated their boy.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Peter says shyly. He’s got his hands on his narrow hips, but Tony knows that those fingers are long enough to wrap all the way around a man’s wrist, wrenching it back.

“How are you?” Bucky asks when Peter comes by.

Peter smiles, soft and gentle. “I’m okay, Bucky. How are you?”

“Better, now that I’ve seen your handsome face.”

Peter blushes, so susceptible to Bucky’s lines. Then he turns his eyes to Tony, and they grow colder. He barely nods recognition before strutting away. Tony can’t even appreciate the way the tight pants hug his ass, because he’s too busy with his mouth agape, jerking a thumb at the boy’s back and asking Bucky, “What did I do?”

-

That night they are waiting up for Peter the first time he makes his rounds. They decide to sit on the floor so as to be as non-threatening as possible (Peter went through a fucking ordeal yesterday, and they aren’t looking to add to his stress), Tony with his back against the edge of the cot and Bucky propped up against the wall, one foot flat on the floor and the other tickling Tony’s thighs. Yes, the bunks are that small.

As soon as Peter’s light shines in, Bucky calls for him gently.

Carefully, he steps into the room, shining the light towards the ceiling to cast a glow over all of them. His face is somber, but he smiles.

“Hey Bucky. What do you need?”

Bucky doesn’t beat around the bush. “We want to know if you’re really okay. Tony told me about Toomes. That guy’s a fucking piece of work. Hope some guys up on B Block crack his skull in—won’t be no skin off society’s nose.”

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not a good way to talk. That’s not justice. I’m doing fine—Toomes wasn’t hard to subdue.”

“You handled him like a pro,” Tony adds.

Peter’s look frosts over. “Like a police officer, yes. No thanks to you.”

Tony groans. “Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I wouldn’t go press the button for you, baby?”

“Don’t call me that. And yes. I thought we were—” Peter doesn’t finish. He blushes, obviously knowing how silly that sentence sounds: a CO being friends with an inmate. But it cuts Tony all the same, and Bucky’s look across the room is murderous.

“You didn’t try to get help? What the fuck, Tony.” His foot lashes out and catches Tony in the shin, and fuck that stings!

“I’m not a snitch,” Tony snaps.

“Look, I’ll leave you both to this—”

“I was going to handle it if Peter couldn’t—I was going to kill that son of a bitch. That’s how things work in here, you _know_ that Bucky. This isn’t the military. There’s no honor or morals. There’s just rules, and the number one rule is no snitching. If there’s a problem, we handle it this way.”

Peter swallows. “Tony—you can’t just say that. I can’t—I’ve got to tell somebody that you said that, I think.”

“This _place_ doesn’t have honor, but _we_ do,” Bucky growls. “Or at least, I _thought_ you did.”

“You know I’d have killed for him,” Tony says through his teeth. “Just like how I’d kill for you—”

“Would you fucking stop it?” Peter hisses. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over them to hear him curse. His grip has gone white on his flashlight he’s so tense, lips pressed into a thin, furious line. “Why are you two doing this? Is it—is this just to, to fuck with me? I don’t get it, I—”

All the anger seeps out of him. He looks lost, tortured. Both of the angry men in front of him soften. What is it about this boy that melts them like wax under flame? Bucky shuffles up onto his knees, looking with his long hair like some knight from an old medieval story, begging for forgiveness of his fair lady.

“Pete, we didn’t mean to come on so strong. Please—will you sit for a bit?”

Peter glances back at the floor. It is dark and mostly quiet, some laughter coming from a cell further down the line. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “I need to do my job.”

“We won’t keep you here, if you want to leave. We aren’t like Toomes. But if you’re willing, we’d like to talk. Work this out.”

Looking torn, Peter sits. Tony and Bucky flank him, but the boy doesn’t look threatened in the slightest, just hunches himself over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Go ahead and talk,” he says.

“Bucky and I are together.”

Peter snorts. “I got that when I saw him sucking you off.”

Tony blinks. “Oh. Well that happens in here every now and again—some men will do anything in here for company, even if they don’t really swing that way on the outside. But Bucky and I—we’re pretty in love.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “He’s dumb. But I love him.”

Peter laughs a little. “Okay. Yeah. So you two are together.”

“We’re polyamorous,” Tony admits. “That means we have a lot of love to give and aren’t unopposed to giving it to multiple people at once. Bucky here, he’s got a boyfriend down the line, Steve—you know Steve?”

“I know Mr. Rogers. He seems nice.”

“He’s real nice,” Bucky smirks. “Our point here is that up until now, we’ve had passing flings with other people, but we’ve never shared anyone. We’ve never wanted to share anyone—until you. And now it’s like our stupidity has squared itself, because we both are falling over ourselves to try to attract you.”

He’s glad he’s letting Bucky take the lead. Tony might have a way with words, but Bucky absolutely has tact and softness that Tony can’t muster up in his wildest dreams. Peter is sitting between them looking red-faced but thoughtful. “So, what? You guys both want to date me?”

“We can’t exactly set up a table with a cloth and wine and dine you, princess,” Tony says. He tries to stay soft and honest, because his mother always used to say that honesty is the best policy. Peter looks like the kind of kid who would appreciate that. “As unfortunate as that is. I’ve got five months left on my sentence, and Bucky has almost double that. And as—what is it Bucky? Thirsty?—as _thirsty_ as we both are, we understand that you wouldn’t want to put your job in jeopardy.”

Peter looks relieved by their admission. “I don’t really know how I feel, to be honest. You’re both—wow, you’re both really hot. Duh. But I don’t know you. Maybe I could get to know you? A little at a time? And once you’re out Tony, if I’m not seeing anyone, we could go out? There’s…” Peter swallows. “There’s definitely chemistry here.”

“Yeah, kid, I feel that,” Tony says.

“We don’t want to pressure you,” Bucky emphasizes, shooting Tony a look overhead that says _keep it in your pants_. They’ve been seeing each other in here long enough to have reached the telepathic portion of their relationship, thanks. “You’re already promising more than we could have hoped for. And we really appreciate you sitting down and talking things out with us. That’s never easy, doll.”

The younger man blushes prettily, shrugging. He stands. “I really should get back to work.”

“Okay, kid. Whatever you need to do,” Tony agrees. He shifts, hard in his sweatpants, the proximity to his lover and his maybe, possibly, someday lover has sweat beading at the nape of his neck and his imagination running wild. Peter’s eyes track his movements and then fall to his lap.

He _licks his lips._

Honest to god.

“I—wait for me. Just—” Peter disappears, flashlight bobbing as he continues down the line. They can hear him popping his head in to a cell further down and telling the guys to _please be respectful of the other inmates, thanks!_

“Buck,” Tony groans. They smash together with no finesse, both of them stressed and horny from their confrontation with Peter. They taste like mint toothpaste they used before lights out, and Tony licks into the younger man’s mouth unabashedly, sucking on his tongue, licking at his teeth. “God, I need you,” he whispers.

“Take me,” Bucky urges. “Come on, baby. Take me.”

They shed clothes like they’re on fire. Tony folds Bucky’s legs up—for a large guy, he’s surprisingly nimble—and lowers his mouth to Bucky’s ass, licking a hot stripe over his hole and to his balls. He hears the hiss above him, the groan muffled by a fist in his mouth. Not for the first time, Tony hates prison. He hates that they have to be quiet, that they can’t let themselves go and love each other properly, just hushed romps like this in the middle of the night.

“What do you think he meant?” Bucky pants, fingers clenching on Tony’s hair. “ _Wait for me?”_

There is a whispered groan from the doorway. They both turn to see Peter there, leaning against the bars, eyes heavy. “I meant wait, but I get it. God, I get it. You’re both so, wow, god.”

“He’s eloquent,” Tony says. They shift on instinct, turning so as to give Peter a better view. He turns off his flashlight and it takes time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Peter stands with his back to the wall, hands clasped behind his back like he’s in handcuffs.

“I can’t—I can’t do anything,” Peter pants. “But I could watch. If you wanted me to.”

“Do _you_ want to?” Bucky asks.

“God yes,” Peter breaths, voice high. One hand palms at his crotch. His uniform has him blending in to the darkness, but they can guess what he’s doing, and fuck that turns Tony on, like there’s fire in his blood. He goes back to eating Bucky’s ass, pressing a thumb against the rim to hold him open so he can slip his tongue inside.

“Jesus, Tony,” Bucky says. “Fuck me. Just fuck me, come on.”

Tony is in full agreement. It’s too much; they’re all too worked up. The sounds from Bucky, the sounds from Peter, the taste of his lover in his mouth—his cock feels fit to burst as he pulls it from his sweats. He doesn’t dare pump it for fear of blowing his load right away. God this isn’t going to be the best performance to share with their new love, but he hopes that Peter can forgive him if he comes off as a three-pump-chump.

He presses in slow. Bucky is still soft and pliant from their fucking the night before, and there’s no discomfort on his lover’s face even when he bottoms out. Bucky’s legs wrap around him and he urges Tony forward with his heels and voice: “Come on, baby. Fuck me. Give it to me. Put on a show.”

Tony knows just how Bucky likes it. There’s no holding back, just the brutal thrusting of his hips that has Bucky giving off choked noises, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth and the other scrabbling at the sheet on the cot. It only takes a moment for Tony to glance over and see Peter, hand flashing in the darkness as he jerks his own cock through his dress blues, and Tony is mounting the crest, balls contracting, stomach tensing.

Bucky blows first, untouched. Tony barely gets a fist around him when he realizes what’s happening, pumping furiously to help his lover through it. Then he is there himself, grip maybe too tight around Bucky’s cock, hips snapping desperately while he blows his load. It feels like it lasts forever. Was over so, so quick.

Even when they’re done, panting, sandwiched together, they hear Peter: breathy little whines from across the room. He stops jerking himself off when they stop lazily and lovingly grinding their hips together, but it’s obvious by the unconscious swaying of his hips that he didn’t cum.

“Take care of him,” Bucky mutters, pressing a kiss to Tony’s sweaty temple. “Get on your knees for him.”

“Yes,” Tony gasps. His cock slips free of Bucky, still tingling pleasantly. He walks on his knees the few feet it takes to be at Peter’s feet, staring up at his tortured expression.

“I can’t,” Peter gasps. “I can’t do anything. That’d be wrong—”

“Then don’t do anything, Officer,” Tony purrs. He reaches a hand up and rubs at Peter’s cock. The kid keens softly, thrusting his hips out even as he grips uselessly at the wall. He’s desperate for relief, desperate to get away. Tony bats his eyes, though no one can see in the dark. “Let me do the work, sir. Please?”

Peter swallows hard. He nods frantically, and that’s all Tony needs to undo Peter’s belt, wrench down his dress slacks and boxers. He doesn’t even get a good look at the kid’s cock, just swallows him down. It’s a nice mouthful, and he has to work to get the last inch or so, taking the head just into his throat. “I’m—I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter gasps.

Tony swallows.

Peter cums. Tony barely manages to pull back, desperate to taste him on his tongue. One hand comes up to work at Peter’s twitching cock, the other cradling his balls to help prolong his pleasure. The kid sounds like he’s never cum before in his life, hands gripping at the concrete wall, giving tiny aborted thrusts, mouth open and panting.

“Thank you, Officer,” Tony says, voice a little distorted from deep-throating. Peter slumps down the wall, knees shaking, until they’re kneeling across from each other. Tony can’t help it, he laughs a little. “You didn’t need to be worried about hurting me, baby. That wasn’t my first blowjob.”

It’s Peter’s turn to chuckle. “I did have good reason to be worried.” He cuts himself off, like there was more he was going to say, but stopped himself.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky asks. He’s lounging on the bed, watching them with lazy, sated eyes. He’s so fucking handsome, Tony crawls across the floor to kiss him and press the last of Peter’s cum into his mouth. The other man moans appreciatively.

“It’s kind of a crazy story,” Peter admits.

“We know a thing or two about crazy,” Tony says. “Try us.”

Peter clenches his hands together tightly. “It’s weird, actually. It has to do with a spider.”

Bucky and Tony share a glance, equal parts confused and amused. Tony settles in, leaning his head to rest on the cot beside Bucky. “Go on then,” he says. “We’re listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment! Criticism welcome. Find me on tumblr: cagestark.


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